


Constants

by cesttoiquivois



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Canon Compliant, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-22
Updated: 2019-07-22
Packaged: 2020-07-11 13:16:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19928680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cesttoiquivois/pseuds/cesttoiquivois
Summary: This might become a collection of Mulder & Scully oneshots.





	Constants

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sixteen birthdays spent without William and one with him.

**& many more to come **

May 21st, 2002

They would have celebrated it here or at her mother's. Probably here, if she wanted to keep it on the low, which she did. 

He would have woken her up at 5 or 6 to be fed and she would have cradled him in her arms, gently tilting the bottle as he sucked on the teat. He would have kicked his legs against her arms, giggling as she would press small kisses on his nose when the bottle was empty. 

Mulder would have come a few hours after, bearing too many presents and she would have chastised him for it, not mentioning the many packages hidden in her closet. There wouldn't have been that many. Just a few clothes to replace the ones he would have surely outgrown and perhaps one or two early-learning games… maybe a train and another teddy thrown in there. Probably. Surely. There is also that jumper she bought early on in her pregnancy. There was only one size left -- 13 months -- and she hadn't planned on buying it but it kept ogling at her in the store until she caved. It had a fox on it and she thought it was cute so she figured he could wear it on his first birthday. Mulder never knew about it -- it could have been a surprise. 

It's still in his room, untouched just as the rest of his clothes, toys and teddy bears… It all still smells like him. So intoxicatingly like him. She often enters the room but she hasn't been able to touch anything. Except _Victoria_ , the doll Mulder gave her for him, that has now found shelter in her bedroom, on her bed. 

That was the plan, the way she imagined it when he was still a peanut inside her, even when Mulder was still nowhere to be found. At the time, she still had hope. She still believed they would be reunited and that the two of them would blow their son's first candle in unison, his giggles so loud they'd cover Doggett, Reyes and Skinner's voices as they sang _Happy Birthday William_ with tacky hats on their head, that her mother insisted they should all wear.

But, Mulder isn't here. He's god knows where and the only thing she has left of him are two (yes, Bernie joined Molly in fish heaven) fish and a bunch of files gathering dust. 

And William… 

She looks at her reflexion in the mirror, unable and unwilling to hold the tears. She puts a hand on her now-flat stomach where she once held him safe. 

He's lost to her too. 

…

She goes there once a week. She buys the same black coffee with a splash of cream and sits behind the same computer. She hasn't heard from him since that time he almost came home and she hasn't written to him since she gave up their child, but she still comes and ignores the look she gets from the barista who surely wonders where the "cute little one" is.

She switches the computer on without hoping for much -- perhaps she's lost the ability to -- but she still feels the need to be here. Maybe she'll read his last email and pretend he's there telling her the words. 

She logs into her emails and waits for the connection. 

Her heart almost stops when she sees the highlighted message: 

**Dana - trust_no1@mail.com - May 21st 2002**

Tears gather in her eyes as she stares at the screen with disbelief. She ignores her shaking hand and moves the mouth over the unread email. _Click._

_Dear Dana,_

_I'm sorry it's been so long. Don't think that I've forgotten you in my quest - I could never nor would I ever want. You keep me going. You keep me strong. But today is hard._

_I wish with all that I am that I could be here with you and William, to blow his first candle and spoil him with unnecessary presents._

_Yes, it's been hard lately. Not a single second passes when I don't think of you both, wondering what you're doing and what new trick the little man surely has learned lately. Is he crawling? Is he walking? I can almost picture it._ _Well, not well enough. I'm missing so much of his life already_ _…_ _I keep telling myself that it's for his own good, it's to protect him and you..._

 _I wish I could see you both, just for a second. To see your smile - Oh Dana, I miss your smile_ _…_

_I have to go - be on the move again. I don't know when I will be able to reach out to you again but don't mistake my silence for forgetfulness. You're in my heart forever. Both of you._

The tears are streaming down her face and she's certain the patrons are all looking at her with concern. Her heart is beating so fast, she fears it might stop for good. Unable to bring herself to write back and admit the horror she had to do, she simply logs off her email and turns off the computer before fleeing the café. 

… 

That night when she comes home after work, she lies in bed fully clothed, _Victoria_ pressed against her chest.

May 21st, 2003

He's the first one to wake up which isn't so unusual. 

Next to him, she's sleeping but the creases on her forehead tell him that it isn't much of a peaceful slumber. He leans forward and places a kiss to her temple, rubbing a soothing thumb on her arm. 

It's been a little over a year that they've been on the run and sometimes, when the mood is gloomier and the sky low, he wonders if he shouldn't just quit and give her back her freedom. 

Today is a particularly gloomy day. 

He slides off the bed and messily buttons a shirt around him. He slides into a pair of jeans before slipping on some shoes. 

They're staying in a motel in the middle of nowhere. They've been here for a few weeks now and it's starting to seriously affect her moods. She isn't like him and sometimes he forgets. He's so used to always have her support in his journey no matter the stakes that he forgets that the hermit life might become him but perhaps not so much her. Probably not. So, today might be as good a time to get back on the road. 

He goes to the motel's convenience and fill up in food. Packs on chips - this new kind he loves but Scully finds repulsive, some crackers, a couple of fat free yogurts and four bottles of water, two sparkling ones and two still ones. On the way out he grabs a few silly magazines and two packs of chocolate bars. 

When he gets back to their room, she's woken up and he hears the water running in the bathroom. He considers stripping down and going in, grabbing the soap from her hands and rub her shoulders, on that spot where she usually tenses but he decides against it. She might want to be alone for a bit. He'll pack instead. 

He's got a few shirts hanging on an armchair that he throws in his bag as well as some underwear he washed a few days ago. For her bag, he's a bit more mindful, not wanting to be at the receiving end of her wrath if she finds her clothes wrinkled. Inside her bag, he sees _Victoria._ She named her. His family was never the type to give dolls a name but she insisted she looked like a Victoria and to be frank, he didn't care. All that matter was how happy she looked with her smile spreading across her face and the doll pressed against her swollen belly. He shakes his head and puts the (somewhat) folded shirt inside, covering the doll and the bittersweet memory. He grabs the pack of plasticware they bought a few days ago as well as the snacks and puts them in his bag. As he closes both bags, he hears the shower stop only to see Scully stepping out of the bathroom a few minutes later, towel wrapped around her small figure and red eyes. 

_Oh, Scully._

He walks up to her but she raises a hand to stop him, muttering that she's fine but her body doesn't quite get the memo and her shoulders start quivering as she brings the lifted hand to her mouth and muffles her cries. 

Within a second he has her in his arms, his head leaning against her wet hair. He rubs his hands on her bare back, just above the towel and simply holds her. 

He's considered it so often -- what he would do in order to take her pain away. Not a day passes when he doesn't wonder if she wouldn't have been better off never stepping foot in that office ten years ago. 

But she's still here and he isn't sure why. Is it love? He loves her, that he knows but does she? Should she, after all she's been through because of him, because of his quest? 

"I can hear you thinking," he hears her say, her breath hot against his skin where he didn't bother closing the buttons. 

He feels his body reacting and she chuckles a little, sniffing as she parts from him. 

He misses the contact despite himself which is probably why he keeps his hands still on her arms. He watches her look around, her brows furrowing. 

"We're leaving?" She asks. 

"I thought it might be time to bid our humble -- albeit lovely -- abode goodbye".

She huffs and he smiles. 

"Let me get ready," she tells him, escaping his grip. However she pauses midway and exclaims, "Did you pack my bag?" 

"I folded it. I promise."

She looks at him, uncertain, but doesn't insist. She'll know soon enough. In the meantime, he is going to take a shower and probably lock the door behind him just in case. 

...

Several hours into driving, they arrive in Arkansas. Scully is asleep next to him. She's only been out for a few minutes, having insisted that she was alright and that she could keep him company. Her body disagreed. 

The last few nights have been hard for her. She's been having nightmares she pretends not to remember. William's birthday probably brought back her anxiety, he knows that much, but she shrugged it off whenever he asked about it. So he stopped asking. He figures she will talk whenever she's ready but he isn't really surprised to see the fatigue taking a toll on her body. 

He sighs, resting his head against the seat as he turns off the engine. His hand slips inside his pocket and he picks out his wallet. A smiling William greets him when he opens it and it tugs the corner of his lips, his eyes watering a little. He never blamed Scully for the choice she had to make but he blames himself daily for not having been there. For missing the brief moments when their son was still theirs… _he is theirs. Always_. 

He feels a hand slide on his thigh and he looks to the side to see Scully, smiling wistfully at him. 

"The nightmares," she starts as if she's been reading his mind the whole time, "it's like I'm seeing things through his eyes, moments I remember from before… before…" Her voice breaks and he pulls her into a hug. 

"It's okay, Scully," he whispers, kissing her temple. 

"What if he is unhappy? What if he is miserable?"

He doesn't answer, unsure of what to say because he's thought a lot about that and never found the words to soothe his worries. 

"We just have to believe," he says simply and her grip tightens around his waist.

May 21st , 2006

It's not that it became easier. 

But, like mourning, with time, the absence isn't so foreign anymore and the pain is now just a part of her.

She still misses him -- every second of every day -- but she’s used to the feeling, now. 

They're in Charleston. The first city since they've been on the run. She doesn't believe the FBI -- or any other agency for that matter -- is still after Mulder. They're probably relieved to have him out of their hair, but she won't risk it just yet. She misses work however. Not being an agent per say -- that particular job doesn't carry much weight to her if Mulder isn't there with her to continue their work. Still, she misses doing something other than moving from one place to another… she wants a job and a _home_. One where she can hang pictures of her mother and nephews in, where she can display the few photos of her time with William, where she can collapse on the sofa after a long day and prop her feet up on the coffee table. A home where she'd see Mulder's things spread around widely and that stained coffee mug she would have told him a million time to soak in baking soda and vinegar but he'd never listen. She'd be mad but he would tug on her blouse and bring her into his arms before landing a kiss on her pressed lips and she would forget.

"What's going on in that head of yours?"

He turns the TV off and props himself up against the bedhead.

"Do you think we should get a house?" she asks, not missing a beat. 

No answer. 

She turns to look at him, furrowing her brows. 

"Now?" he asks.

She shakes her head. 

"In a couple of months or years. Once we're sure you're not wanted by every agency in the country," she snarks, and he gently pokes at her side, making her smile. "Unless you don't want to that is…"

"Oh no. I mean, yes. I would love to, Scully," he assures grabbing the book she's holding and putting it aside so he can take her hands. "I'm just… I'm only wondering if… today is…"

"You're wondering if I'm not asking because today is William's birthday and I could just be feeling vulnerable?"

He sighs. "Something like that," he admits and he has the decency to look somewhat shameful. 

She gets it though. 

"You know me well enough now Mulder. I don't make rash decisions, much less important ones… even when time isn't so generous," she mutters, thinking back to that night she decided that her son would be safer away from her. "I… I want a home with you." 

A mere second passes and his face breaks into a smile. She laughs, shaking her head before snuggling against him. 

"I would love to have a home with you Scully."

May 21st, 2014 

It's not the first time that he's dreamt about him. 

A couple of months after he had to leave him and Scully behind, he dreamt about him, running in his diapers chased by a laughing Scully. He woke up that morning with a pain so sharp in his chest, he thought he was dying.

The other time was much earlier. He'd been in a catatonic state at Spender's mercy and William hadn't even yet been conceived. For years he thought the boy building a sand castle at the beach was just a younger version of himself but it was William, he was certain of that. It was his and Scully's son asking him not to destroy his life. The torturous irony is that he did it anyway. 

He told Scully. She didn't believe him but she didn't voice it. Instead, she gave him a small smile and told him that she missed him as well. 

Last night's dream was different. 

There were celebrating William's 10th birthday except in his dream, he was still with them. There never was any closed adoption, just the three of them. As a present, he had gotten him a sky rocket and they built it together in the garden, Scully looking over at them, with a cup of coffee in her hands. He looked up every so often and met her eyes. 

She was beautiful. He had to fight the urge to walk up to her and kiss her hard on the lips, ignoring William's displeased groans. 

Eventually, the rocket was built and the three watched it launch into the sky… well, a few feet above the ground, but it was enough to have William throw his hands up, happily. 

But it all soon turned into a nightmare when the next thing he remembers is waking up to William's screams and flying to his bedroom, only to find it empty, a bright white light disappearing into the dead of the night, away with his son. 

He woke up with a start in the morning, panting and sweating. He turned, desperate to see Scully, to touch her and bury his face in the crook of her neck as she wrapped herself around him but she wasn’t here. She was gone. He was alone. 

The sad thing was that he was incapable of remembering what he and Scully were doing on his 10th birthday. He remembers the ones before, the ones after…. The time they drove through the entire day eating snacks and taking dumb magazine personality tests that dubbed him 'obsessive and distrustful', to which he replied to Scully with an "I trust _you_ ". She had smiled and leaned forward, planting a kiss on the side of his lips. He remembers his 7th birthday. It was the first one they spent in their house, or rather what used to be their house… For the 11th, he dragged Scully to DC because he had to find that bakery he used to go to as a child because he couldn't believe that, in the nineteen years they'd known each other, he hadn't made her try _the_ most delicious muffin on the east coast. She had sighed and asked to go home on more occasions that one but she still sat next to him and rubbed a soothing hand on his back when he slumped on a bench having found himself muffin-less, the bakery having closed down. 

Perhaps, he was indeed obsessive. But then, she leaned over and kissed his temple and whispered that it was okay, she “still loved him, muffin or not” and well, the rest didn't seem to matter much. 

Last year, there were tears and him holding a shaking Scully. Despite all she had been through, it was a rare sight for him to see her so broken and one he hated particularly. 

She had just been assigned to work on children who were born with a disease -- microtia, he remembers -- causing them to not have ears and although they tried to push the thoughts aside from early on, sometimes they still wonder if what was done to her when she was abducted or the miraculous aspect of William's conception had in anyway affected their child. Was he in pain, in anyway? She’d still dream about him, more often than him and more often than before and sometimes she’d wonder if it wasn’t him asking for help, asking for her. She usually pushed the feeling aside and laughed, muttering that he was rubbing off on her, and he huffed in jest but he knew better. He knew the thought of their child hurting in any way was torture for her and went against the very reason she gave him up for adoption, so he held her that day and they stayed in bed for most of it. 

However, May 21st, 2011, remained an unexplained blur. He pondered calling Scully to ask her but he wasn't sure how. It was the first time they weren't together on his birthday apart from the 1st one. He wasn't faring well. He wanted to see her. 

She visited sometimes to make sure he was still feeding himself somewhat correctly and well, to check up on him. It made him feel like a child but he wasn't going to spit on any excuses she made to come here despite the fact that there was probably a huge guilt factor. After all, she was the one who left. The reasons are still unclear. 

He looks around, sat on the porch of what used to be _their_ house and sighs. He tightens his grip around the bottle of beer he's holding and is about to bring it to his lips when the sound of wheels rolling on the gravel interrupts him. 

A small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. _She came_.

"Hey, there doc," he greets as she steps out of her car. She smiles and although he saw her two week ago (11 days ago, not that anyone’s keeping track), it feels like he hasn't seen that smile in forever. 

He misses it. He misses _her_. 

She walks up the stairs to him and he tries to stop staring. Once at his level, she starts bending forward. For a second, his heart skips a beat thinking that she's about to kiss him but instead, she grabs the opened bottle of beer standing on his thigh with the tip of her fingers and brings it to her lips before sitting next to him. 

A comfortable silence settles between them as they share that beer. It brings him back to earlier days when they were still FBI agents and he would invite her over after a case. They would sit on his couch, a classic from his very personal collection playing on the TV as they'd sipped of the cold brew. 

He turns his head a little to look at her and wonders why she ever moved out if they're still that much comfort and easiness between them. Then, his mind switches to that dark room next to the kitchen that he slowly retreated more and more to as soon as the deal on the house was made. 

But he stopped. He stopped with the conspiracies and the obsessions. When she asked him to after the case with Father Joe, he stopped. Not all at once but he eventually stopped. She, however, started to be more distant and he can't pinpoint exactly what caused it because if it was anything he said or did, he is willing to admit to his faults right now. 

Sometimes, he wonders if she's moved on. If that’s why… Perhaps, she did. Yet, she still visits. Yet, she's here today.

"I can hear you thinking."

He turns to look at her. Her head is leaning backwards and her eyes are shut. She is beautiful.

"I miss you," he says before he can stop himself. 

Her shoulders drop but she doesn't move nor does she open her eyes. 

"I miss you too," she replies after a little bit and she reaches out a hand that he takes. 

He leans back in the chair, locking his fingers with hers. 

"Do you think he misses us?"

"I hope not," is her answer, and he gets it, but he isn't as selfless. No matter how ridiculous it is to think that a 10-year-old boy remembers the guy who held him a couple of times when he was barely a few hours old, he hopes his son does, somehow.

"I'm glad you're here, Scully."

This time he hears her shift in her seat and when he glances, she is looking back at him. 

"Me too, Mulder."

May 21st, 2016

The dreams haven't stopped and now they seem to be getting more and more apocalyptic. She hasn't deciphered them, what they mean, but it has her waking up in the middle of the night sweating and with tantalising headaches. 

15 years old. He is _fifteen_ years old. 

She looks in the mirror, unable not to wonder if he looks like her. He was born with her eyes, but she knows they most likely darkened over time. 

She has a lot of questions that will forever remain unanswered and not just about his looks or personality or what he enjoys doing in his free time (God, she hopes he isn't out chasing aliens). She has questions she fears the answers to.

When she had that conversation with Mulder after her mother died, he promised they would look for the answers to every question she had, that they would find them even if "he had to turn the world upside down" and she honestly believed that he would. It wouldn't have been the first time… But, the world isn't the same anymore. They aren't the same either and she believes that her answers died fourteen years ago in a missile explosion in New Mexico. 

She shakes her head. She doesn't want to be thinking about him today. Especially not today. 

… 

She finds Mulder at her doorstep. She opens the door and greets him briefly as she walks away to finish getting ready. 

Now that they're back at work, they see each other everyday without either of them having to try and make up excuses for it. She likes that.

"I'm almost ready," she informs him, heading back to her bathroom.

"Sure, G woman."

She hates when he calls her that and he knows it. She pauses mid-step and turns to glare at him. He lifts his hands in fake apology and chuckles. 

She smiles despite herself and is glad he can't see it from that far. 

They are heading to the office for a meeting with Skinner about their latest case. Kersh wasn't too pleased to find out one of his agent was high on hallucinogens while working a case. Shocking. 

She sighs wondering if there will ever be a day when he stops with his crazy schemes that she always has to back up in front of the brass. 

"You wouldn't have it any other way," he told her one day and well, maybe she wouldn't. 

Once she's ready they hop in his car and head to DC. 

"Feeling better?" He asks after a bit. 

He's referring to the nightmare. She calls him now. Whenever she has one, she gives him a call and tells him about it. He usually doesn't utter a word. He just listens and when she's done he lulls her back to sleep by telling her the plot of one of the many movies he owns and knows by heart. It works wonders or maybe it's just his voice in her ears that has the effect of a comfort blanket. His voice and his arms… She misses his arms. She misses a lot about him… But she ran away and there isn't much coming back from that. Rather, she isn't sure she's ready to come back, she isn't sure whatever led her to flee has been fixed. 

"Earth to Scully," she hears Mulder. 

"Yeah, I'm okay," she assures. "Thank you for keeping me company."

"Always."

She smiles and leans her head against the window. 

…

"Do you sometimes wonder how we would have celebrated it?" She asks suddenly, looking up from her coffee. 

They're in Peregrine Espresso, having decided that coffee and muffins were necessary after having been properly chided by both Skinner and Kersh.

He furrows his brow. 

"William's birthday." She notices the _Oh_ on his face. "Like, the kind of party we would have had, the kind of cake, the kind of presents…"

"I do sometimes, yes."

"When?" she asks, putting a piece of carrot muffin in her mouth.

"Two years ago. I dreamt about him."

"You did? You never told me about that." She can't help feeling a little hurt. 

"I didn't want to worry you."

"I'm not made of glass, Mulder."

"Hey," he says quickly, grabbing her hand and she looks away, hiding the tears pricking her eyes. Where did those come from? 

"In my dream, he was getting abducted." She looks back at him. "It was a dream but I know you wonder sometimes if it's not him trying to communicate so… I didn't want to scare you, especially since I didn't have any solution to offer to ease your mind."

She closes her eyes. 

"I know how much we want answers, Mulder but they don't all need to be provided by you. You always run off trying to prove things… I want answers, yes, but I want us to find them together. So, even if I do sometimes say that it could be William talking to me, rationally, I know my dreams are just that and not some telepathic conversation our son is trying to have with me so you can talk to me about yours even when they are… _that_. I know the kind of memories it probably brought back for you so stop coddling me, especially when you let me call you in the middle of the night to talk about my own nightmares."

"I don't mind."

“I know, you don't and I wouldn't either. We're in this together. _It's us_ , remember. You and I.” He smiles at the memory and nods. “Now, tell me more about this dream.”

"Well, in the dream we were celebrating his 10th birthday and we gave him a sky rocket…" 

She huffs. "You mean _you_ gave him a sky rocket."

"I thought it was 'you and I'. You can't hop out of the team whenever, G woman." She purses her lips, fighting a smile. He chuckles. "Anyway, can I finish my story?"

… 

"So, you were at your mother's on his 10th birthday."

She nods as they step out of the café. 

"She wasn't feeling well and I didn't want her to be alone in that big house. There was a lot of arguing that she was fine and that I didn’t have to take care of her but eventually she caved and let me come." 

"That's why I couldn't remember it. You weren't here." 

She raises two amused brows. "You've survived without me before, Mulder," she points out, lowering herself into the car. 

"I know, but I don't like it." 

She grins. 

"Well, I'm here today."

He reaches out for her and wraps his finger around hers. She squeezes it. 

She looks out the window into the sky as the engine starts and her hand finds the cross around her neck.

"I miss her,” she says with a small smile. “I wish she could have met him again."

"I know. I wish she could have to."

"Do you think we will?” She asks looking back at him. “See him again?"

"I want to believe we will." 

"I do too."

May 21st, 2017 

This year is hard. This time they know for a fact that he is alone and no matter the amount of distraction they get from work and the blood-drinking/organ-eating lunatics of this earth, their son is out there, on his own to fight whoever comes next to try and kill him. 

He rolls over in bed before sitting up, angrily. He pauses abruptly and looks around with a frown. 

_Where is she?_

He finds her outside wearing her PJs and his jacket on top. He smiles at the sight, remembering the many occasions he woke up to find her drinking her coffee outside, on the porch. On _their_ porch. 

He's missed her so much. It feels like he stopped breathing the second she left but didn’t realise until he finally held her again in his arms that night, during that evil twins case they got in Virginia. And now -- now there’s no more pretend. No more “are we together”s or seperate hotel bedrooms (well, there still are because of the Bureau's policy about male and female agents consorting in the same room while on assignment, although they’ve crossed that line too long ago for it to even still be relevant). 

It’s just them, now. Together. Well, she isn't back completely yet. She still has her house but she spends more night here than over there and what she told him a few weeks ago, before she let him light a candle for her prayer, helped to ease the usual self-doubts that emerge when it comes to his relationship with Scully. 

"I want to stop. I want to find our son and then stop with the rest. The conspiracies, the pain and suffering, I’m done with all that… I want to live.”

He closes his eyes briefly as the words ring in his ears. 

“That’s not my four-year-old self looking for a miracle. That’s my leap of faith forward. And I’d like to do it together."

_I’d like to do it together._

There was a time when he told her that the darkness always found them no matter where they were, and he believed that, but today, as he stands here in this house they bought together to build a future in, he doesn't want to believe anymore. He will punch darkness in the face if he has to.

He will find their son and he will give Scully the life she so longs for; she’s always longed for. As did he. 

"What are you thinking about?"

Her voice brings him out of his thoughts and he looks up to find her walking back inside.

"William," he tells her honestly. 

"I was too," she admits. "We need to find him Mulder."

"I know. We will. I promise you. His next birthday will be here, with his parents."

She smiles and he pulls her into a hug. She wraps her arms around his waist and he hums the scent of her shampoo. 

"I don't think it needs to be said aloud but… I love you, Scully."

"I know, Mulder,” she says after a small beat. “And no, it doesn't need to be said but I'll never tire of hearing it."

She parts from him and looks up in his eyes before pressing her lips against his. 

"I love you too," she whispers. 

He smiles and gently pulls her lower lip between his. 

May 21st, 2018

There's an instant fear that creeps up in her chest when she wakes up that day. The thought is almost numbing -- what if it was just all a dream?

She's on her feet as soon as her body lets her, ignoring Mulder's groans of protest, and makes her way downstairs. 

He's in Mulder's former office. They converted it in a bedroom for him when he showed up at their door a month ago. They couldn't believe it. _She_ couldn't believe it. So much so that the following minute she was on the bathroom floor, emptying her stomach in the toilet bowl as tears of joy pricked her eyes. She blamed it on morning sickness but it was a lie. A lie she was ashamed of, even more so when she saw the smirk on her son's face. He knew. 

She stares at the closed door, unable to lift her hand to the knob. What if it was indeed all just a dream? What if he did die that night? She wants it to be real so badly. Too badly perhaps.

"Hey," she hears behind her. She turns, startled, backing against the door. 

"Sorry," he apologises, his eyes sheepish and two hands wrapped around her arms to steady her. 

Her eyes shut upon contact, her heart swelling at the feel of the warm skin. 

It was real. He is real. He is here. For the first time since that day she and Mulder held him between them, barely born, with all the love in the world, she's going to be able to celebrate her son's birthday and watch him blow his candles and…

"I don't need candles and all," he says bringing his hands back to him and ruffling his tousled hair. 

He is so handsome. 

She notices his cheeks reddening a little and he starts fidgeting. 

"Get out of my head," she says, chuckling before walking past him to the kitchen. "And don't deprive me of a proper celebration," she throws over her shoulder. "There is a lot of happiness that needs to be effused."

"I noticed that, yeah," he mutters but she hears him.

"Get out of my head."

"I am," he assures. "I was just… I worried -- Sorry."

Instantly, she feels a pang of guilt. She walks up to him and lifts a hand to take his but stops herself before any contact is made.

They noted he wasn't big on touches unless necessary, like earlier when he thought her wobbly pregnant body was about to give out **.** For anything other than that, they had to learn to refrain themselves. 

Surprisingly, it was harder for her than Mulder. When William showed up he had pulled him into a tight hug almost instantly while she was busy running to the bathroom. When she came back, they were still hugging -- well Mulder was. William had his eyes shut tight and his fists just as so. Scully had rubbed a hand on Mulder's back and he finally let the boy breathe. As soon as he realised William's discomfort though, he stopped with the touches, reaching for her instead whenever the need presented itself. For her, the slips happened more often and quite frankly, she simply craved his touch too much. The last time she held him, he had this silky-smooth feel to him but now he is a young man. He must have scars, spots, bumps… she wants to know everything. Every wound external or internal. Every joy. Every memory, every moment she missed.

Selfishly, she wishes his parents hadn't died so abruptly so she could have had some answers... But, she keeps those thoughts to herself or mutters them wetly to Mulder as he wraps himself around her back and rubs her arms soothingly. 

She had to learn to stop herself from reaching. Even when she so desperately wants to, no matter how much it kills her not to.

She clears her throat and smiles. 

"Don't apologise," she tells him. "It's alright. I know you only do it when you're worried or scared or to reassure me… I'm not mad at all."

There's a small tug at the corner of his lips and he nods. 

… 

Mulder is adamant that they should drive north to the Martha’s Vineyard to go to the beach. 

She doesn't argue. She knows what the place means to him. She knows about the days spent at the beach with his parents and sister and about the dream of who he initially thought was a younger version of himself but now is sure was one of William. 

She usually would have argued against it -- what an absurd thought, William hadn't even been conceived yet. But Mulder was so excited about it that for once, she didn't feel like proving him wrong just for the sake of it. 

The idea wasn't a bad one. The thought that even during that terrible time, he was still holding onto something somewhat tangible, although not yet real -- their son, was comforting to her in more ways than one. 

So, they packed some sandwiches and an overnight bag and hopped in the car. It would take forever but they would make it before the sun came down even if they stopped every once in a while. It will be nice, she thinks to herself. Even William seemed excited. 

"We used to do that a lot with my parents," he lets out as they pull into the street and she shares a quick look with Mulder. We would go on small road trips for no reason… just 'to get out of the house a bit' my mom would say. I used to love it then hated it but… I miss it now I guess. 

_I miss them,_ she hears in her head and the way Mulder's eyes pop out tells her, he's hearing it too. _But, this is cool too_.

_Sorry, I'm getting out of your head now._

She tenses, fearing that she might have actually hurt his feelings but then there's a small chuckle coming from the back seat and she rolls her eyes. 

_Little shit._

The laughs intensifies and she smiles, shaking her head at a confused Mulder. 

…

They didn't get him a cake but he did have to blow a candle on a cupcake. 

She cried. 

Mulder did too.

William rolled his eyes but he smiled. He seemed happy. He seems happy with them and not just in a I-don't-want-to-hurt-your-feelings-but-I-just-figured-if-I-wanted-a-roof-over-my-head-I-might-as-well-go-to-the-guiltful-parents-who-gave-me-up way. 

He seems happy. 

He won't stay forever, she knows ; can tell. Because he's a loner and he seems to like moving around and being free but he will come back here eventually and might even end up calling it home too. 

The bedroom will always be here. The furniture and the things he chooses to put away as well. They will change the sheets every week and make up the bed with clean ones -- always so whenever he wants to, whenever the knock on the door bring them out of their routine, he will always feel like he was expected. Like he was wanted because God, he is. He's always been from the very second they were made aware of his existence and will forever be. 


End file.
